


Paris or Somewhere

by FlatlandDan



Category: Spaced
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:36:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlatlandDan/pseuds/FlatlandDan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim had gotten the phone call at 2:34 am.  He had been on a 14 hour Tomb Raider binge trying to avoid thinking about how he was so skint he was going to be giving everyone illustrations for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paris or Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emmzzi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmzzi/gifts).



Tim had always wanted to take a girl to Paris. Lately he’d been thinking that girl might be Sarah, but, really, did you take girl to Paris after three months? That was more of a one year thing. Maybe a two year thing. Certainly a thing that happened when you had made it big and were so rich you could do it properly. He’d started saving though, about £100 in a biscuit tin in loose change.

And now Tim was actually in Paris, just with Mike and not a girl. Actually, he technically wasn’t with Mike as Mike was sitting behind four doors and two armed guards. He was sat across the table from a TA commander and two representatives from the Gendarme. The details were still remarkably sketchy, but what was very clear was that there was a tank and a soldier where they shouldn’t be. That, of course, being half way up Main Street, U.S.A at Disneyland Paris and Space Mountain respectively.

\- -

 

Tim had gotten the phone call at 2:34 am. He had been on a 14 hour Tomb Raider binge trying to avoid thinking about how he was so skint he was going to be giving everyone illustrations for Christmas. There were only so many years he could convince everyone it came from the heart. He had known that he was Mike’s next of kin but, for fuck sake, it was a TA exercise in France. Mike had been arrested. There was a psychiatric evaluation. He was only going to be released to his next of kin. When could he be there? The flat was silent for a minute when he hung up.

“Fuck” he said softly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Tim?” She was standing there, beautiful in one of his old t-shirts.

“I have to go pick up Mike from the TA. I…might be a while.” He’d taken his biscuit tin, hopped on the tube and two hours later was going through customs. He spent his trip on Eurostar scribbling doodles of Mike blowing up and the way Sarah would have looked on a bridge spanning the Seine. He was met by an ambassadorial aid, all sunglasses at night, and driven straight to the jail. Occasionally they would pass a happy couple and he would bang his head against the window.

\- -

 

And that was how he ended up there, sitting across from three twats and £100 down thanks to the train ticket. The biscuit tin sat between them, the only protection Tim had.

“Mr. Watt is to be out of the country within the day. Mr. Watt is to attend a military tribunal as directed. Mr. Watt…”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m not his mother. I’ll get him back to the UK but sod the rest.”

“Mr…”the commander looked at the piece of paper in front of him. “Bisley. I’m not sure you quite understand the situation your friend is in. This could have easily been a diplomatic incident.” Tim tossed his hand in the air and leaned back, resting his arms over the back of the chair.

“Thing is, I’m not the one who left him alone with a tank.”

\- -

 

They release Mike in the early hours of the morning and as soon as Tim sees him he knows he won’t have the heart to do much yelling. Sure, when they get out of eyeshot of the door he hits him and doesn’t feel guilty when Mike stumbles into the wall. Mike doesn’t say a word, just pulls the too small gray jacket the army dug up for him from somewhere closer together before shoving his hands in his pocket. He follows Tim into the café and gives him a few attempts to order some food before ordering them two coffees and some bread, butter and jam in what sounds to Tim like excellent French. Tim wasn’t really surprised, Mike had been talking about Operation: Perte de Temps since he’d gotten back off summer camp in August.

 _“Tanks, Tim. We’re going to have tanks! We’re training with the regulars before they head out. I think we get to be the enemy.”_

The coffee and food were deposited in front of them, along with the bill (cheeky fuckers couldn’t even wait until they had eaten?) and Tim dropped a sugar into each cup without thinking. Mike had been so excited when he’d left five days ago, had taken over their living room for a week to clean and lay out each bit of kit he had been issued. It was the happiest Tim had seen him, a proper overseas deployment with the regulars. Tim stirred the sugar into his cup, waiting for the words he was sure would come. He buttered the bread watching as it melted into the still warm loaf, slathered on the jam and cut it neatly in half. They ate in silence, the bustle around them soothing tempers and Tim felt the stress lessen slightly.

They walked past Notre Dame and over a bridge onto a perfect little island and then onto another. An hour later they sat on a park bench and watched ducks splash into the water off a little house in the middle of a pond. Mike sighed.

“I just wanted to impress them. To do the best job I could at being the enemy. I though, maybe if they noticed me they’d ignore the medical and…” And Tim looked up at the tree waving above him and remembered.

Remembered the day he called Mike a chicken for not jumping off the tree, remembered Mike landing funny and cracking his head against the ground. It was the first time Tim had cried in years, watching the paramedics taking Mike away and then walking home alone for the first time in years. He found himself nodding, still watching the water.

“It’s alright Mike.”

“Are you even listening to what you’re fucking saying? It’s not alright. They’ve booted me out and with this on my record they’ll never let me back.” Tim looked at him then and watched him bury his face in his hands. He shuffled closer and leaned in close, pressing his body against his friends.

“We’ll get you back in mate, don’t worry.”

“Do you promise Tim?”

“Yeah, I promise.” Mike snuffled at his words, rubbing his eyes under his glasses and raised his head. Tim smiled at him and was rewarded with a small smile back.

“Now come on, our train is in five hours and there’s a comic book store I want to check out near here and Sarah will fucking kill me if I don’t bring her back a Christmas present from Paris.” He knows he’s broken the moment, but knows it’s the right thing to do. They could sit here all day on a park bench in Paris and talk about things they regret doing, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything. Tim stands and reaches out, grabbing Mike near the elbow and hauling him to his feet.

\- -

 

It’s night when they get on the train and Mike leans against the window, asleep before they’re out of Gare du Nord. Tim looks at the graphic novel he bought, leafing through the pages without being able to read a word. The biscuit tin sat in front of him, filled with macaroons, chocolate and cheap brie. An hour passed.

“I’m sorry you had to come get me Tim. I know you were saving to take her.” Tim shrugged at Mike’s words. _I’m sorry Mike. I’m sorry I wrecked your life, took away the one thing you loved and might have been good at without you even having a chance. I’m sorry for when I’m mad at you, I’m sorry that the TA booted you out because you tried your fucking hardest._

“It’s alright mate. She wouldn't have liked the comic store anyhow."


End file.
